


Named

by belovedbookdragon



Category: The Scorpio Races - Maggie Stiefvater
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 16:33:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9665660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belovedbookdragon/pseuds/belovedbookdragon
Summary: Old Thisby. Nameless Rider.





	

**Author's Note:**

> First ever post. Sorry if you hate it.

Every young man of Thisby knows that killing a capall uisce is the only way to be considered a true man of the village. Those great water horses, so beautiful and dangerous, emerge from the sea just before Samhain, and disappear 31 days later. And when they disappear, they leave the dead behind.  
Those who cannot provide the skin of a capall are banished from Thisby, to the mainland, where the magic is dead and the capaill uisce no longer run free.  
Like all the other young men in Thisby, I have yet to be named. If I succeed in my hunt, bringing a capall uisce to the village by Samhain, then I will be named by the priestess of the Mare Goddess. The idea of having a true name sends shivers down my spine; no longer would I be known by the womb name my mother gave me, Branch, but by a true man’s name.  
The first capall was spotted only two days earlier. The village was awoken at dawn by Fenac, the sea’s watchman, calling out the warning that death was once again walking our shores. By that evening, all 8 of us unnamed boys had gathered in front of the priestess and the altar of the Mare Goddess.  
We knelt before Priestess Enid and chanted with her, invoking the Mare Goddess’s blessing on our journey to manhood. Enid poured water and red holly berries on our heads, washing away our childhood names. She painted us with charcoal, clay, and chalk, turning us into the images of the gods carved on the wall of the temple.The villagers stood behind us, watching, waiting. This night is when the rebirth of our village begins, the night that gave us the strength to make it through the winter.  
I knew my parents and siblings were watching. I longed to ask my father for advice one last time, to tell my mother I would always be her child, to tease my sisters, but, I knew they would not speak to me until I returned with a capall uisce.  
To them, I am dead. The boy that I am dies at this altar tonight. I will be reborn in salt, blood, and sand. Or I will perish at the teeth and hooves of the capaill uisce. Or, even worse, I will fail and be banished to the mainland neither boy nor man.  
Enid finished her blessing over us and spoke to the villagers. “Behold! In three days hence these boys will return men or sacrifice their bodies to the Mare Goddess. May the blessings be upon them!”  
The villagers chanted together, “Mare Goddess send us men home!”  
I could see my sisters and their future husbands standing next to my parents. For a moment, I envied the girls. They received their woman name when their moon cycles began. Creek became Blathnaid and Shale became Maebh.  
Then again, I knew if I voiced the fact that I was envious, they would have no hesitation in beating me within an inch of my life and then shoving my bloody self into the sea. Most of the boys I knew from the village agreed that facing a capall was the easier way to adulthood.  
The priestess continued the ceremony, this time with the sacrifice of a nameless man from the main land. In the fire where his body burned, the flaming figure of a mare danced. It was gruesome, but it was Epona's will. \---  
We were sent to the water’s edge dressed only in wool leggings, sturdy leather boots, and the paint from the priestess. We were equipped with only an iron tipped spear, red holly berries, and an iron rod that fit in our palm. This is when the dying begins.  
We all went our separate ways, seeking our glory alone. I found myself walking along the cove, the wet black sand stuck to my leather boots like sap. The waves that rushed in and out made the cove sound if it was a breathing creature. Woosh- in. Woosh-out. I could hear the eerie cries of the capaill uisce coming from the water, the land, above, and below.  
The screams started not too long after midnight. I couldn’t tell if they were capaill or if they were human. I couldn’t think about my peers. I couldn’t think about the fact that I may never see my childhood playmates again.  
I kept my eyes on the sea, waiting to see if the water would force a demon upon the land.  
Then, I heard it. Screaming, agonized, feral screaming. It wasn’t human, it was a capall uisce. I came upon the beast, screaming and writhing in the sand, its vivid blood streaking the rocks beside it. The water horse’s neck was stretched and twisting like a snake, its teeth exposed in pain as it keened over and over again.  
The horse was blue in the moonlight. The type of blue that smoke became if the wood was too wet, in the daylight, the capaill would be a striking grey.  
Soon, I realized why the capall uisce was wailing, it had an old iron rod piercing its fleshly shoulder muscle. The iron rod was lodged in the cliff face, a fierce storm must have shoved it into the rock. I moved closer to the capaill, hesitant. The water horse’s eyes were wide and rolling, the white had long disappeared.  
This could be my chance, I realized. I could kill the beast now and return to my village a man. I would be named. I shivered, the thought of having a name was something so beautiful that for a moment I forgot that I was within touching distance of the capall uisce.  
Its keening suddenly stopped, and I was shocked back to awareness by the silence. The water horse stared at me, trembling and weak. I raised, then lowered my spear. What kind of man would I be if I killed this creature when it was defenceless? Would the Mare Goddess scorn me for killing her offspring in such an unclean way?  
A small voice in my head whispered, maybe the Mare Goddess herself, “free it. Let it face its fate on its own terms.”  
So I did. I dropped my spear, I dropped the iron and holly berries. As I approached, the capall uisce eyed me, its eyes no longer rolling. I stared into its eyes and saw my death, my rebirth, my freedom.  
With all my strength I shoved the capall away from the rod, the sound of flesh sliding against iron squeaked and hissed. Then, with a sickening slurping pop the capaill uisce was free.  
The demon stood. Shaking it turned its head to me, teeth bared, smelling of death and fish and salt. I waited. I waited for death.  
\-------------  
They call me Rider Without A Name, and my capaill, the Horse Without A Name. I will never know why my capall did not kill me, why I climbed upon her back. But since that day, I have been free. I named her Liath, and she has carried me across the sea, across the islands, and to lands where the magic is not dead. I return every Samhain and I hear them cry Nameless Rider and Nameless Horse as we travel down the beach. We remind the people of Thisby that the Mare Goddess ever watches, and the capaill are her children, as are her worshipers.  
As the years have passed and Liath and I have aged, we have seen other riders, soaked in blood, screaming the praises of the Mare Goddess.  
I am nameless.


End file.
